


Touch

by Magnetism_bind



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Cock & Ball Torture, M/M, Molestation, Non Consensual, Object Insertion, Rape, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-21
Updated: 2012-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-31 12:53:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magnetism_bind/pseuds/Magnetism_bind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Charles is recovering in a hospital after being paralyzed, his telepathy is subdued by the drugs being pumped into him and he is unable to tell others about what happens when he's alone. He is left helpless against a molester in the hospital, and with each visit the molester grows bolder. </p><p>Then Erik finally visits him.</p><p>Bonuses for forced blow job, fingering, object insertion. Silent tears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at 1stclass-kink on LJ.

At first he thinks it's a dream.

The soft feathery touches along the inside of his thigh. Touches that linger no longer than a second. Fingertips dancing over his skin like a scattering of raindrops.

Charles smiles in his half-sleepy state. It's not a bad dream. 

He prefers to to think it's a dream. In his dream, it's Erik touching him. Erik, whose hands wander over his motionless legs as though they can bring back feeling if they only apply the right amount of pressure. 

He turns his head slightly, and the fingers move away, leaving him alone in the dull glow of the hospital room.

 

Charles dislikes the long tedious days. Somehow, they're far worse than the nights. People talk to him, the nurses, an occasional doctor or two, and then his friends. He's grateful for their attention, but it take so much effort to focus on them and their words. Even when they make sense, responding is nearly impossible. So far he's managed a few one word responses. _Yes. Cold. Please. Water._ Every time he speaks, it leaves him exhausted. The silence is better. 

He doesn't ask if they've heard from Raven. He knows the answer even if he doesn't want to admit it. 

Moira is looking after the remaining students for the moment. Charles is grateful for this as well. He should worry more about what's happening outside the room he's stuck in, but he finds hard to do so. 

He should care about what drugs they're prescribing. The haze he's lost in should matter more. His powers are faint and fuzzy. He gets snatches of thoughts now and again, but can't determine who they belong to, or if they're simply memories from past conversations. 

He misses Erik more than he can ever say.

 

The ward is quiet. The hall lights dim and unobtrusive. Charles lies half dozing. The cloud enveloping his mind is soft and gentle tonight. Charles imagines being surrounded by an actual cloud. The thought makes him smile. 

It takes him a moment to register the hand. 

The hand pulls down the sheet covering him. The night air is too cold without it, and Charles half twitches his fingers, in an effort to tell whoever it is to put it back. Instead the hand slides along the inside of his thigh right up to his crotch. And then, this is the part where Charles decides he really must be dreaming, because, well, _really_ , the hand cups him through his thin pajama trousers. 

He wants to bat the hand away as it touches him, but that requires too much effort. Instead he just lies there as the hand moves down further to cup his balls, squeezing slightly, just enough to bring faint tears to Charles's eyes. It's been so long since he's felt anything down there, since he's let himself feel anything...and now this unfamiliar hand is acting like his genitals are no more than a piece of fruit to examine before purchase. 

The hand continues until it's right between Charles's cheeks, just holding there. Thin cotton is the only barrier between the hand and Charles's entrance. He blinks, looking up, trying to focus, but the face above him is a blur.

Still, the movement is enough. The hand moves away and Charles finally drifts off

 

 

The doctors talk about his legs, the likelihood of his walking again, and the reality that he will most likely be in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Charles hears the words, but they have little impact on him. 

The next time the hand is bolder. 

Charles is dozing, in and out of a half-dream in which they are all once again at the mansion and he's walking down the steps toward Erik, who turns and smiles...

Charles shivers and blinks his eyes tiredly. He's cold, at least part of him is. When he opens his eyes, he's surprised to see that his pajama bottoms are being pulled down to tangle around his ankles. Lukewarm embarrassment colors Charles's face. He doesn't know why this is happening, or what exactly is even happening. He tries to open his mouth, but his tongue feels like it's wrapped in cotton wool. Talking is beyond him. 

So he lies there, watching the hand through half-lidded eyes. 

The hand curls around his penis, testing, giving it an experimental tug. Charles wants to moan, to tell it to stop, but the words won't come. It's too much, the wrong side of pleasure. Still the hand doesn't linger on his penis for long. No, once again it progresses to touching his balls, and then beyond to his hole. 

Only this time there's nothing between the hand and Charles. 

A fingertip brushes lightly over his entrance. It half tickles, half makes Charles want to tense up. He tries to speak again, but the word 'stop' comes from his mouth jumbled, unrecognizable as anything resembling English. 

The hand's next move forces him to focus. A blunt, thick finger is pushing crudely inside him, past the tight ring of muscle that does its best against the intrusion, but fails all the same. The finger is inside him past the knuckle and Charles is helpless. He can't squirm away from it, he can't make it stop. He can only lie there, still and vulnerable as the finger moves inside him, examining his ass carefully. 

The hand moves slightly, the finger withdraws...only to be joined by another. This time there are two fingers making their way inside him. It hurts like nothing Charles has ever felt. The burn as the fingers stretch him force a weak cry from his lips.

The fingers twist inside him, and Charles bites his lip against the tears that have filled his eyes. It must be a dream. There's no way this can be happening to him. 

The fingers slip out of him. Charles wants to curl into a ball away from everything. The emptiness. The despair at how defenseless he is overwhelms him, and the tears fall at last. What's worse is the hand is still there, resting on his thigh. 

“Not as strong as they said you were, eh?” 

Charles focuses again. The man's face is still little more than a blur. But now there's a voice to go with the hand. He'll remember that. Charles does his best to notice things about the man while he pulls Charles's pajamas back up and then drapes the sheet over him. The light is too poor, the man is careful to keep his face in shadow. He has nothing to go on, but the hand. 

Charles is certain he would know that hand anywhere. 

 

Guilt starts eating at Charles unexpectedly. How could he ever think it had been Erik touching him? Erik would never. Charles is confident of that. Erik's fingers are long and elegant and capable. He's never this clumsy, this awkward. Erik's fingers would be welcome anywhere on Charles's body, even now. 

Some nights the hand merely touches Charles on the surface of his body. The fingers trail over his legs, from his ankles to his calves, to his thighs, brushing along his hips up across his belly to his throat. Sometimes a thumb rubs at a nipple, before pinching it between finger and thumb. The fingers touch him everywhere. There isn't an inch of Charles they've left alone. His body is no longer his to maneuver as he chooses. It's just a plaything for the hand.

“The students all miss you,” Moira says on her next visit. Her words are kind and warm. “Every day they ask when you'll be well enough to come back to the mansion.” She squeezes his hand as she holds it. Charles can see the worry in her eyes, the concern is deep-rooted. Moira's doing her best. But he can't find the words for what he needs to say, and she leaves after kissing him briefly on the forehead.

 

“Heard you had a lady friend visit today.” The voice remarks as the hand holds Charles's jaw. 

Charles brings his right hand up to brush it away, but something's pinning it down. A knee, holding him firmly in place. The man's thumb runs along his lower lip, before dipping inside his mouth. Charles tries to turn his head away, but the man holds him, forcing his mouth open. 

The weight in the bed shifts as the man clambers over the side railing to kneel above Charles. 

“Your mouth is perfect for this.”

Charles looks upward. The man is shoving his pants down, drawing out his cock. He knows what the man is going to do, but his mind won't accept it. Even as the blunt head of the man's shaft pushes between his lips, Charles is lost in disbelief. It fills his mouth, shoving its length all way to the back of his throat. Charles gags and chokes as the man begins fucking his mouth. He can barely breathe; his nose is pressed against the man's pubic hair. It's too much. He's crying, he knows he is and that makes it worse. 

Charles cries for things that matter. His own loneliness as a child due to his mother's neglect. The hurt Raven was forced to endure over the years. Erik's painful memories, and his bright, beautiful ones. He doesn't want to cry over this; he doesn't want this to _matter_. But the tears fall all the same. 

The man's breath is coming faster now, his thrusts into Charles's mouth flagging slightly. There's a sudden hitch in the rhythm and then he's coming down Charles's throat. Charles gulps helplessly, trying to swallow as quickly as possible so he doesn't choke. The stream seems unending. His vision blurs a little as the man's hips finally still. The cock withdraws from his mouth, trailing wetly over his lips. 

Charles desperately wants water to wash the taste from his mouth. But when he manages the word, pleased he can even speak it and it sounds right, the voice just laughs and leaves. Charles is left alone in the dark with the taste of the man still in his mouth. A painful reminder of the visitor in the night. 

 

In the morning he can still say, 'water' and the nurse gives him a glass. He drinks it all and asks for more. As a result, it's no surprise when he has to urinate a short while later. The nurse is slow getting to him, and the urine dampens the sheets between his legs. Charles keeps his head turned away as the nurse calls for help. They strip him and the bed calmly and efficiently, changing the sheets, changing his pajamas. 

Charles almost doesn't notice. It's just a fleeting touch, a brush of fingers on his side as they lower him onto the fresh sheets. That's all it takes for him to recognize them. It's the hand. He looks up into the orderly's face and wants to scream. He's just a man, just an employee in the hospital. He's the reason Charles now hates the darkness of night, and dreams of escaping. 

Somehow, he'd let himself believe that the hand belonged to someone who came to the hospital every night. Someone sneaking in to touch him, and then leaving before the hospital staff could catch him. The simple truth that the man is part of the staff, that he's trusted with Charles's care makes him want to retch. He does so, abruptly, bile rising up in his throat. 

His vomit hits the orderly's shirt and the floor. Charles lies back against the pillows feeling as though he's almost won a small victory. The feeling fades when he sees the look in the orderly's eyes. Charles knows the man will not forget this. 

 

The rest of the day passes too quickly for once. Charles strains to listen as the nurses make their rounds. _Two pills, not one. Check that catheter. Doctor needs to see her in the morning._ They're all preoccupied with their schedules, not concerned in the least about the paralyzed patient in room 34. 

Charles waits as the minutes tick by. He can't sleep, but his thoughts slip in and out of focus. His eyes have only just closed when he hears distinct footsteps coming down the hall. They stop in front of his room. Charles opens his eyes.

The door opens and the orderly steps inside. He's just a man, Charles knows that...and yet he trembles at the thought of what is to come. The orderly walks over to the bed and looks down at him.

“You caused me to fall behind on my rounds today.” He shook his head slightly. “Didn't appreciate that.” He pulls the sheet back, smirking at Charles. Next his hand tugs Charles's pajamas down to his thighs. “They said I wasn't to hurt you too much...but really, what is too much?”

Charles licks his lips. “Please.”

“Oh, can we talk today? They must be slipping on your dosage. No matter.” He checks the chart at the foot of Charles's bed, while he takes something out of his pocket. Tapping it thoughtfully against the chart, he glances at Charles and grins. Charles focuses on the item in his hand. It's a large metal scalpel, sharp and dangerous. 

“Now,” the orderly lowers the chart and returns to stand by Charles's side. “I could shove this in you, pointy end first. Maybe you'd even like that? Getting cut deep on the inside. Maybe you wouldn't even feel it. It's an interesting idea. Shall we test it?” 

Charles's hands clench in the sheets. He can't bring himself to try to speak again. What good will it do?

“Maybe I'm just not that cruel.” The orderly sighs. He moves his hand between Charles's legs. The scalpel strokes along the length of his shaft. Charles doesn't dare breathe, as it slides underneath the head to move over his balls. 

The orderly laughs. He puts the scalpel down for a moment, and then, his thumb breaches Charles's hole, pushing inside. Charles's cry is weak as the thumb opens him up, uncaring of how roughly it's doing it. He barely has time to take a breath as the thumb retreats, only to be replaced with the blunt end of scalpel. Charles closes his eyes in relief. It's not the sharp end.

Still, that's little comfort as the man starts pushing it further in, fucking him with the instrument. It's large and cold as it moves deeper inside him. Charles shivers as the cold metal fills him, and he thinks of Erik, wondering if somehow, somewhere he knows what's being done to Charles. It's an idiotic thought, but he can't help wondering all the same. 

The orderly pulls the scalpel almost all the way out, then pushes it back in. He takes note of how Charles's stomach tightens, how his fingers still clutch at the sheets, how pale his face is in the dull light. 

“Interesting,” is all he says, leaving the scalpel half inside Charles as he consults his notes again. Charles stares at the ceiling and thinks of all the things he could do to this man if he had the full strength of his powers. It's a long list, and it gives him little pleasure. 

At last the orderly removes the scalpel. Charles is sore and aching. All he can do is lie there, as the man slowly draws his pajamas back up, then the sheet. He takes his notebook and scalpel and goes away down the hall. 

Charles closes his eyes again. He tells himself it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if he cries, or if he foolishly feels betrayed because the man used metal on him, or even the fact that nobody has even noticed what's been happening to him. 

He doesn't even try to stop the tears this time either, as they fall silently on the pillow. 

 

There's a voice beyond Charles's consciousness. A voice speaking quietly, but determinedly. A voice he knows intimately.

“Which room?”

“Sir, he's in a private ward.”

Charles opens his eyes as the door to his room opens and Erik is there in the doorway. He looks older, weary and serious. He's not wearing the helmet, and Charles gets a flash of anger and sorrow that is so heavy, so painful, he's almost glad he's not at his full strength because to feel the full weight of all that would make him break. 

He smiles wanly at Erik, who turns and closes the door behind him right in the nurse's face.

“Charles.”

“Erik.” The voice is little more than a whisper. 

Erik flinches. “You don't have to speak to me, Charles. I simply had to know...”

“What?” 

“Whether you were all right.”

It makes Charles laugh, a hoarse, choke of a laugh that leaves him gasping weakly against the pillows. Erik is at his side in a moment.

“Charles, what are they doing to you? What's happened?”

“I can't...” Charles struggles to lift his hand. It touches Erik's cheek instead of his forehead. “I can't...” His fingers twitch helplessly against the warm skin in a feeble attempt to explain.

Erik catches his hand in his, holding it between his palms. “Charles...” He turns to look at the IV drip attached to Charles's arm. He studies the medication and then with a snarl, tears the bag from its hook. “They think they're helping, and all they're doing is controlling you.”

“It's for my legs.” Charles manages. “For the pain.”

A shadow crosses Erik's face, but he doesn't acknowledge it. “Here,” He takes Charles's arm and very carefully draws the drip free. 

“Erik.” 

“Shh, Charles...it will take a while...and it may hurt...but you'll feel better.” His hand brushes over Charles's forehead, as Erik bends down to kiss his brow. “I should go...”

“No.” It's the loudest Charles has spoken in weeks. 

“What is it?” 

Charles takes a deep breath and focuses, reaching out to Erik. The drug is still in his system, but now that the constant feed has been halted, he can already feel the edges of his mind clearing. He focuses on the nights...the visits, the hand, everything that's happened to him. It's blurry and confused, not as concise as he would like, but from the way Erik's lips tighten and his eyes narrow, Charles thinks he's managed to convey enough.

Erik leans in, taking Charles's hand in his. “You have my word, Charles. He will never touch you again.”

“Erik, please.” It's not a plea to spur him on. Erik knows full well what Charles is trying to say.

“You know I can't make that promise.” Erik presses his lips to the back of Charles's hand, and for a moment, Charles feels safe. Then Erik stands and leaves.

 

Erik finds the orderly in an an exam room, putting away new supplies. He closes the door behind him. 

“Sir, you can't be in here, aahh.” Erik has the man up against the wall, winding the stethoscope around his neck tightly.

“You have one chance to tell me why you harmed my friend.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” 

Erik simply raises his hand and the stethoscope tightens, pressing hard against the man's throat. He gags and chokes, fingers tugging at the instrument helplessly. 

“The patient in room 34.” Erik says softly, and comprehension dawns in the man's eyes. 

“It was a test.” He gasps.

“A test for what?” Erik moves closer.

“They wanted to know what he could do...whether he could stop someone. Whether he'd be able to tell someone...or whether he'd even remember what was done to him.” The man's straining to breathe, his face red and desperate.

“Who wanted?” Erik tightens the stethoscope even more when the man is slow to answer.

“The...government. It was the perfect opportunity to see if they could control him.”

“So on the government's orders you molested and humiliated him?” Erik forces the man further up on his toes, cutting off his air.

“It was just an assignment...” The man chokes out the words.

Erik ignores him. He simply stretches out his hand and the scalpel that was in the man's pocket flies to land in his palm. 

Erik studies it a moment before looking the man straight in the eye. “You should have known better than to use metal.”

“Why?” 

The word is cut off as Erik cuts the man's throat open in one long gash. Blood spurts from the wound as the orderly gurgles and sags to the floor. Erik leaves him there, his body twitching as the last bit of life drains from him. 

The scalpel is unrecognizable as Erik squeezes it into a shapeless lump of metal. He stares at it, letting it drop to the floor. 

_I'm sorry, Charles._

Charles blinks at the words. They're faint, but they're _there_. He can hear Erik once more, and he knows what Erik has done. For him. 

_You didn't have to kill him._

_You know I did._

_Erik, please._

_You know perfectly well, Charles. I'd cut the world apart for you. One man is nothing._

_Can I say thank you for the thought, if not the deed itself?_

Erik has to smile at that. Only Charles. It makes him feel a little better. If Charles's principles are still intact, as they seem to be...he'll recover. He'll be all right. 

_Of course you can._

_Thank you, then...Erik, with all my heart._

Erik closes his eyes against the flood of emotions pouring in. _I see you're recovering quickly._ He resists the urge to turn left, back down the corridor that would take him to Charles's room. He heads for the exit instead.

 _Things are still rather hazy,_ Charles admits.

 _That will pass._ Erik pauses and looks back at the hospital. He can't say any of the things he wants to, even now...

_Is this goodbye?_

The sorrow coming from Charles is strong enough to make Erik want to fall to his knees and crawl back inside. He opens the car door and slides in.

_You will see me again, Charles._

_I look forward to it, old friend._

Erik smiles as he drives away.


End file.
